Pride of the Clouds
by Darkrealmist
Summary: The tale of the Azorius Senate's elemental cats and their wayfare through Ravnica's night sky.


Pride of the Clouds

Author's Note: Enjoy the poem and R&R.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of Magic: The Gathering.

…

The clouds…Tonight they seem disturbed  
Something is amiss; it can be seen in the stars  
The twinkle fades, the storm parts, and one can hear  
The roar, which echoes as the beast pounces through  
The open sky of fairy dust  
Like an illusion, the cat casts its vapour-like shadow  
Over the calm-swept megalopolis below  
It is a good omen  
It is a sign that there is order somewhere in  
This world of warring guilds and infested streets  
The Majestic, it is joined by its kin  
Racing playfully with one another, tails curling  
Against the wind, It is  
For once, the epitome of silence  
Their ferocious appearances are softened  
By the blue and white hues of light  
Their manes, golden and free,  
Loose themselves upon the peaceful atmosphere  
This is a figment  
A figment that cannot be understood  
The ground is a dormant heath  
That swelters with an adjudicator's wrath  
Razed by purity  
Only here, in the pinion-filled air, do those  
Held by circumstance  
Slip away unnoticed and asleep  
The thighs of the first lion  
The paws of the second  
The muzzle of the third  
They are ghosts to Ravnica, spirits like any other  
Nothing is out of the ordinary  
They are a common sight  
But not these, They are the Senate's gatekeepers  
The Sphinx's inscrutable words of wisdom:  
"I am advisor, advocator, yet I bluff."  
By the hallowed fountain, she normally rests  
That was a long time ago  
Now she is as hidden as they  
While she conceals herself amongst the bell towers  
The kings are shrouded in brume  
The birds accompany them across the mindscape  
Feather hitting fur, beak hitting jaw  
Fly away!  
A single chord, twin intervals, and a triad  
Drifting into the unseen sea  
Abhorred by the Pact  
Here is the land prior, the shores of upheaval  
No sewers of secrecy, no churches of tithe  
No citadels of angels, no cathedrals of filth  
Running unchallenged  
The plains, still abundant with wheat  
The waters, still fishable and sleek  
Come back  
Utvara cries out to you  
The _kuga_ bellows as it saunters past  
The riddle again:  
"I am advisor, advocator, yet I bluff."  
By the floating ridge, she sits  
That was moments before  
Now she refuses to speak as she did  
She praises, It is unlikely  
They refute, It is implausible  
The birds sail into thunder-wrapped squall  
Wing hitting whisker, wingtip hitting claw  
Fly away!  
Three voices, one hymn  
Into the district of Agyrem, the incorporeal quarter  
The fall to dissension  
Here is the plane prior, the epicentre of reverie  
No conclaves of endearment, no campuses of intuition  
No cults of violation, no laboratories of creation  
Swooping unobstructed  
The maze of marble, still gleaming with esteem  
The corridors of opal, still retaining a pearlescent sheen  
Come back  
Azor grants you counsel  
The Grand Arbiter whispers as he shuffles past  
The conundrum is told in its entirety, The puzzle is revealed:  
"I am advisor, advocator, yet I bluff. When the clock strikes three, I shall be off."  
By the fields, she governs  
That was decamillenia ago  
Now she is quiet, stately and statuesque  
While she proclaims her message from high atop the city architecture  
The lords are already dream-borne  
The birds glide through fabrication  
Prey to predator, logic to law  
Fly away!  
A dirge is sung in waking terror  
Peeled from reality, Entering the Husk  
Here is the terrain prior, not yet charred by the Peripatetic Eye  
No signatories  
No associations  
Hasten the odyssey  
The Schism, still exposed and bringing shudders  
The savage wasteland, still clicking with the conversations of squatters  
Return  
To that lifeless region  
Forty-seven years in the past  
An emboldening decree:  
"To soar as high as hope, to dive as swift as justice."  
The twisting of the trinket, a miniature key  
A ballerina dancing to a faint melody  
A trio of lions sift through the winds and into the sky  
The music stops  
A forecast of things to come

…

-Fin-


End file.
